Lost Ten Leagues Beyond the Wide World's End
by GreyTruth
Summary: Miles Swan is lost. He moves through life in a blur, unable to find meaning in anything. Edward Cullen, moving through a purposeless existence, is in search of the same thing. When the two of them meet, stars explode. Slash. OC/Edward.
1. Prologue: The Wide World's End

_It isn't something you can control. Life, that is. It's just something that happens. Sometimes you can plan and you can practice and you can rehearse, and sometimes that'll help you go in different directions, but destiny is boss. She's got you. She's got you wrapped so tightly around her little finger you have no idea she's even there most of time. You have no control over the big paths your life takes. None whatsoever. So you might as well give up on any silly notion you may have of choice—because it's all bullshit. All of it._

Written in the journal of one Miles Swan-Addler.

**AN: Rehash of a story I wrote/posted in 2008/2009. Better this time, less of a rewrite of Twilight and more of its own story. This is a story of a boy who isn't sure who he is, what life is, or where he fits into it all. This is a story of his growth, his discovery of those painful truths, and the whirlwind that comes along with that self-discovery. Throw in some vampires and things get fun.**

**Here we go.**

**Slash, OC/Edward. Warning for some strong language.**

_Prologue: I Promise I'm Not Crazy_

I guess I'm one of those "messed up" kids you always read about in news papers or see on TV. The ones who "can't handle everyday life" or have "social issues" preventing them from being a part of society. You know the type, they wear all black and have ridiculous hair styles and cut themselves all up, spray paint things, break into cars, and all of that other delinquent stuff. As for me? I'm pretty tame. The most I do is hide in my room blasting Radiohead and Morrissey to escape from the constant headache humanity tends to cause me.

Don't get me wrong; it isn't that I don't _like_ people. It's just that after almost 17 years of people not liking _me_, I decided it wasn't worth trying anymore. I think the final straw was when kids at school started calling me "the psycho" after a few little issues at school. Little issues, though. Really.

I mean, sure, there's my tendency to sometimes get a bit lost in my own head and space out a bit, but everybody does that, right? And it isn't usually _too_ much of a problem, except for when I happen to be walking, that usually ends with me running face-first into someone. And _that's_ only crazy when I happen to be looking at them when spacing out, which has happened a few times. _Then_ I guess I might look a little bit crazy.

Or I guess when people are trying to talk to me and I just stare blankly at them, half the time not even noticing. I'm told I do that a lot, which can be a problem too. Maybe if they had something more interesting to say I would pay more attention. But I digress. For the most part I would say I'm pretty normal. Right? Or at least I thought I was up until recently, when _the incident _happened.

I'm not going to go into too many details, it makes me feel like a whiny bitch. I didn't do it for attention, I did it because… well, because I was exhausted. "Tired" is the wrong word, _exhausted_ only barely begins to cover it. I was _exhausted_ of feeling like there was no point, like all of life was just a big stage-show and I was the character that kept getting beat up for the entertainment of the main cast. The night _it_ happened, I'm pretty sure I had been reading Albert Camus, and the absurdity of the universe became too much. I figured, _if I don't mean anything in the grand scheme of things, why am I here? Why should I stick around if my only purpose is to be a target of ridicule and hate?_

So I swallowed seventeen sleeping pills, wanting to be too dead to care.

For added bonus, and probably some dramatic flair, I simultaneously took an exacto-knife to my arms and sliced from the inside of my elbow down to my wrist.

It was an interesting experience, to say the least. I felt like I was watching from far away, like it was somebody else doing it. I won't go into too many details, it's all so contrived and narcissistic that I'll spare you the pain of listening. Long story short, it didn't go so well, obviously, seeing as I'm still sitting here talking. Or inner-monologing. Whatever this is.

I accomplished pretty much two things with this stunt. Number one, I have some pretty gnarly scars on my arms and wear almost nothing but long-sleeve shirts. Unfortunately the extreme heat in Phoenix kinda kills that option most of the time, so as much of a "Psycho" as I was before, now the kids at school have even more of an excuse for the nickname—and I'm fairly sure my parents have picked up on the nickname, if the looks they give me were any indication.

The second thing, with much more far-reaching consequences, is that my stepmom decided I was too much to deal with and convinced my father to ship me off to The Middle-of-Fucking-Nowhere, Washington. Population: me. Me, and a bunch of hicks, which includes my mother, her new husband and kids, and my twin-sister Bella. Our parents split up when we were just one year old, and it was a typical Parent Trap-style setup where I went with my dad and Bella stayed with mom in Washington. Both of them remarried not too long after, and since we had such little contact with each other, my stepmom basically took on the role of "mother" to me.

That's why overhearing the conversation that took place regarding moving me to Washington was a particularly harsh slap across the face. Imagine your own mother telling your dad that _his_ kid was too much to handle, and that _his _kid was going to be a bad influence on _her_ kids, and that _his_ kid was causing too much tension in the house. It was a rude fucking wakeup call, that's for sure. Christine had always practically been my mother; I had only met my flesh-and-blood incubator-mom once and it had been awkward and uncomfortable for both of us.

What hurt the most was hearing Christine say those things. Acting like I wasn't her son, like she was just putting up with me because of my dad. But what also hurt was the way he seemed totally at ease with this, the way he almost seemed _used_ to it.

For a kid who already felt like the world was indifferent to his existence, hearing his parents talk like he was just a large thorn in their sides was heart shattering. It sealed the wax on my envelope of apathy towards this move and towards life in general. So when my dad asked the weekend before I was officially to move if there was anyone I wanted to invite over to say goodbye, my only answer was "no, there's no one."

He looked at me for a long time, square in the eye, as though he was waiting for me to crack a smile and ruin the joke. But I remained stoic, blank, faceless.

He shrugged and left the room, leaving me to go back my brooding alone. He probably thought I was just being dramatic, that I had people here that would miss me and would be sorry to see me go. But he was wrong. There really wasn't anyone at all.

And so, on my last night in Phoenix, I sat in solitude. Not even enough in me to wish things were different; it was all just facts of life. Tomorrow I would be leaving this state for something entirely new, but it didn't feel like a change from the familiar into the unknown. No, it felt like a change from _nothingness_ into… well, more nothingness.

More than ever that night, I was acutely aware that I was sitting on the brink of nada, of zip, of emptiness. That the place one kid calls home is meaningless in the grand scheme of the universe.

What could it matter to a universe, after all?

**AN: Short prologue. Chapters 1 and 2 are done, and I have a few more edits to make before I post them. It'll probably be up tomorrow night. :] **

**Comments, criticism? Let me know.**


	2. Chapter 1: Vast Oceans of Nothing

**AN: A couple of things. Number one, forget everything you know and think about Forks as a place for the remainder of this fanfic. :P It's absolutely butt-ugly in real life as well as in the movies and books, so just… forget it exists. The Forks of this story is a very different place, much more quaint and homey. Still absolutely small, but not as dreary and gross.**

**Number two… enjoy. :]**

Chapter 1: Vast Ocean of Nothing

"We're _driving _the _whole_ _way?_" I stopped dead in my tracks, eyeing my father's BMW wearily. Didn't he have anything better to do than drive across four fucking states with the son was kicking out of his house?

"_Language_, Miles," said my father, looking up at me. Huh? Had I said that out loud? I shook my head to clear it, resolving to try harder to keep my thoughts from spilling out of my mouth like that.

"And stop being so dramatic, I am not _kicking_ _you out_. It's all for your own good. I think the… slow pacing… of Forks is going to be healthy for you. You've been through a lot the last couple of months, think of this like a vacation," his voice was muffled slightly as he leaned into the trunk to better position some bags. "The city is just too much for you to handle." He clicked the trunk shut and walked around to the door.

I stared at him in disbelief. He wasn't serious, was he? Did he think I was oblivious to the way they had been treating me lately or what? I didn't say anything, though. If he seriously thought I was blind to their hatred of me, I would let him keep thinking that. I was done at this point. Over it. I was leaving them and this whole place behind today, there was no reason to keep dwelling on it.

I climbed into the car after putting my bags into the back seat. I didn't pack much, hell, most of my stuff would be useless in Washington—including the vast majority of my clothes. I had a couple of hoodies that would come in handy, but I figured I would need to do some serious shopping in order to keep my limbs from being totally frostbitten by the first day.

"Stop being ridiculous, Miles. You won't get frostbite," came my father's voice from the left as he climbed into the driver's seat. I huffed moodily at my lack of self-control and just turned to stare out the window. A moment later the engine roared to life, and I stared at the house I grew up in as it moved slowly away. I let myself imagine, for a second, that I was stationary and it was the world that was moving away. I was the fixed point; the house and the neighborhood were the flexible ones, bending away from me as though repelled by my lack of normality. I never felt right living here, in this suburban gated-community of snobs and bitches that put so much stock into material possessions and money and status. I laughed out loud at the idea of all of the buildings and the guardhouse and the gate growing legs and running away, like they were afraid that I would convince them of their superfluous nature just by being different.

I kept laughing until I turned and caught my dad giving me _that_ look, the one that said very clearly, '_I think my son might truly be a psychopath'_, the one that he had been giving me with alarming regularity lately. I abruptly stopped laughing and snapped my mouth shut with a click. He kept giving me looks, which made me nervous enough to start chewing on my bottom lip—a habit I had kicked several years ago when I realized it had started to leave a scar. I guess I had forgotten, because the last few months the habit was back in full-force.

"Stop looking at me like that," I grumbled, turning away from him and leaning my head against the window to try and catch some Z's. It was going to be a long drive.

True to form, we ignored each other most of the way. I watched as the landscape went from the familiar empty dusty orange of Arizona to green trees dotting the landscape. Hour after hour the landscape progressively changed, and in my insistence upon ignoring my father, I took note of every little thing I could. I tried to document them in my head, and test my memory later on by trying to remember geographical characteristics just by the name of the place. It didn't work, but it kept my mind off of other things, and before I knew it night had fallen and he started looking for a hotel.

"Do you want cable?" He asked, standing at the front desk as a woman typed away mechanically at a keyboard. I stared at him for a moment and turned away, choosing instead to examine a potted plant that was more interesting than him just then.

We got to the room five minutes later, and I instantly collapsed on the bed face-down. After sitting in a car for eight hours my ass and legs felt like jelly. I hoped if I looked asleep he wouldn't try talking to me.

"Hey, I'm going to order room service, you want some chicken?" He asked, sitting down on the edge of my bed. I turned and looked up to glare at him.

"Are you serious?"

"What's the problem?"

"Dad, just a question here. Have you ever paid attention to me, or have you just made yourself forget after I tried killing myself?"

He frowned, still not getting it.

"I'm _a vegetarian_. I have been since I was fourteen fucking years old. How could you not know that?" I asked, trying hard not to let anger color my voice. "Even _Christine_ cooked special food for me." I felt like I was being a whiny bitch, but he needed to know how I felt about him right now.

"Just forget it," I mumbled, turning over to face away from him.

That was the last time we spoke on the trip. The next day we got to Oregon, and then Washington, and the landscape was completely overrun with green. Water fell from the sky more freely, coating it all in a blanket of glossiness. The green was _overbearingly_ green, it was sense assaulting and dramatic. Even the sky seemed green-tinted to me, and the closer we got to Forks, the more so it seemed this whole place was an entirely different world.

Our car pulled into the driveway at roughly 1:30 in the afternoon on the Thursday after we began our trek. Forks, for its part, was absolutely nothing like I had imagined. In my head the town was a backwater little shithole with a "down-town" consisting of two gas stations on opposite corners, a grocery store, and some rundown trailer parks on the outskirts. So when we strolled through a quaint little town with mom-and-pop shops lining Main street I felt myself slightly warmed up to the place, even though it was a far-cry from my home city of Phoenix.

As we turned onto Independence Ave—despite internally mocking the generic nature of the street name—I was greeted by a sleepy little neighborhood with sidewalks and trees lining the streets, personalized lawns with Rose bushes and picket fences surrounding old-style Victorian homes that felt, well… homey. One of the things I hated most about my old neighborhood was how dead and soulless the houses felt. Everything in my part of Phoenix was pristine and crisp, maintained by a gardening crew that followed generic templates without any personality or heart. Here, on Independence Ave in Forks, Washington, the houses all had character. They had spunk. Some had overgrown lawns, some had blue window trim and yellow front doors, and I even spotted one with a gnome out front. The place instantly endeared itself to me.

"See, Miles. It's not so bad," my father's voice jeered me out of my internal dialogue. I wasn't sure if he was just commenting on his own or if I had said something out-loud, but I didn't care to ask.

We got out of the car just as the front door to the house opened. My flesh-and-blood incubator-style mother stood in front a light-blue house in the same style as the others on the street. Two stories, wrap-around deck, neatly trimmed bushes on the edges. She looked perfectly in-place standing there, as though she was a part of the landscape and architecture—a part of Forks. I was hit rather suddenly with the image of my father, a budding 18 year old with big dreams and an even bigger ego, walking out of the front door and storming away with me in arm. Though realistically I knew that this house probably wasn't where they had lived, it was still as crystal-clear in my mind as the person who was now standing in front of me. I shivered, the image slightly chilling.

Like our other encounter, it was instantly extremely awkward. I had no idea what to say or do, and from the looks of it, neither did Renee. She stood just as awkwardly, scratching her arm and frowning.

We stood for several seconds before dad decided to take the initiative and break the silence with an ever-energetic "Renee! Long time no see!" After that I didn't listen to their conversation, I was too busy looking around at anything except for my mother. This only worked for a couple of minutes, however, until I felt dad's hand on my arm. I blinked myself out of my daze and turned to see his typical concerned-for-my-sanity face. With a small glare at dad, I turned and looked at Renee.

She stood there, still looking unsure. I decided to throw her a bone and went in for a hug, unfortunately at just the same second she decided to keep things simple and reached out a hand to shake. We both smiled a little before I switched to a handshake just as _she_ reached in for a hug. You know, one of those silly things like walking in a hallway and trying to avoid bumping into a person and you both go the same direction at the same time. Renee smiled now, a little bit more genuinely, and took a big step forward and hugged me.

It wasn't exactly like I was expecting, being hugged by my mother. Hugs in the past from Christine had been colder, held slightly at a distance, and ended after a fraction of a second. Renee, by contrast, wrapped her arms around my middle and her cheek brushed my chin. I was hit with a faint scent of cherry-blossom, which wasn't what I was expecting either. Christine always wore an intensely sharp perfume that made my head hurt, something I imagined she did to make herself more intimidating. Or at least, with my now black-colored glasses looking back at all of my times with my family, everything seemed a little more sinister. Everything alternative motives and hidden truths. It was silly, but it made me feel a little better to villainize them.

Renee pulled away and put her hand to her cheek. I looked down at her, being a couple of inches taller, as she bit her lip and smiled again.

"You've grown so much," she said lightly, reaching up to pinch my chin. At first I thought she was doing that annoying relative thing like when they pinch your cheek and squeeze, but instead I realized she was taking note of the stubble growing along the bottom. My cheeks instantly colored red, I could just feel the blood flowing to my face.

"You're a young man, now," she said, moving away and again looking like she was feeling awkward. I was glad I wasn't the only one.

"Well then," she sighed. "Shall we go inside? I'm sure you'd like to stay the night before your drive back, Charlie."

"Kind of you to offer, Renee, but I've already ordered a Taxi," said dad. He looked at his cellphone for a second before looking back up at Renee—I mean, my mother. I guess I would have to start getting used to that, to calling her mom. I wasn't sure how she would take to it, or even if she would _want_ me to call her that, but something felt wrong about calling her Renee. There was inherent warmth about her, about how she was regarding me. I wondered briefly if there was just something in the nature of human beings that feels a connection with their blood, regardless of if they were raised with them. I wondered if it was just natural, if it was meant to be this way, if we're bound to our blood whether we want to be or not. Things like that had always fascinated me.

I was spacing out until I accidentally tuned back into Re—mom and dad's—conversation as he was saying something about a flight leaving in a couple of hours.

"What? You're flying back? What about your car?" I asked, feeling slightly lost. "It's yours," he said, smiling slightly as he reached into his pocket and tossed the keys to me. I was so dumbfounded that the keys just smacked into my arm and fell to the ground. There was no way he was giving me his car, it was like, his favorite thing in the world. He didn't even buy Christine a car like his, she got stuck with a Volkswagen.

"No fucking way," I said, looking at him square in the eye.

"_Language_, Miles," he said, but he was still smiling. It wasn't a friendly look-what-your-dad-just-did-for-you-because-he-loves-you smile, but instead it was one of his sleazy businessman smile, one of his I'm-making-you-a-deal-right-now-and-you're-going-to-like-it smiles. I couldn't believe he was trying to buy me off like this. I wondered if he seriously thought giving me an expensive car could make up for shipping me away to an island of green hell and basically disowning me as a son.

"No, I don't want it," I said, picking up the keys and holding them out for him, thankful that my inner dialogue remained inside my head this time. Dad didn't seem surprised by this; he just stood there staring at me with an indecipherable look on his face.

"Look, Miles. This isn't easy for me," he said. What wasn't easy for him? Giving away his car? Good, because I don't fucking want the thing.

"Language," he said, his voice sounding resigned. "I meant moving you here to Washington. I know things have been hard for you, Miles, I get that. But it's been hard for us too. I don't like it, but this is the best thing for everyone. I'm just trying to make things easier for you while you're here, can you please just work with me?"

Typical dad. Caring about himself even before his own kid. But I wasn't going to bite. He wasn't going to buy me off by giving me an expensive gift. It didn't really hit home until now, but I was pissed off at him. I was beyond pissed, actually, I was furious. How could he abandon me like this? I was the one that was with him from the start, before he and Christine had more kids. I was his first-born. Shouldn't that count for something? Jesus Christ.

"Save it, I'm done listening," I said, picking up my bag and turning to look at mom. She looked uncomfortable; I could almost see her internal struggle between butting-in and just staying out of it. I'd imagine it would be hard for her, a stranger to her son and his father, not sure where the boundaries were. I felt sorry for her, it wasn't her fault any of this was happening. She shouldn't have to deal with this bullshit.

"Miles, honey, it's okay," mom's voice came floating over as I reached down to sling my bag back over my shoulder. Shit, I did that talking-out-loud thing _again_. I really needed to work on that. "Just forget it, Renee. Can we go inside now?" I asked without really asking, already heading towards the door.

"Go on ahead, honey, I've gotta talk to your father for a few minutes," she patted my shoulder as I passed. I decided I didn't care what they were talking about, that whatever it might be it wasn't important. Nothing Charlie had to say was important anymore.

I stepped inside for the first time, feeling slightly apprehensive about it. I couldn't pinpoint exactly why stepping into the house for the first time was making me nervous, I hadn't been bothered at all before now. I think it was being separated from dad, officially now, that was bothering me. He was really leaving me here. Up until now it just hadn't seemed real.

Not sure where to go while my parents talked, I sat my bags down on the floor and took to inspecting the room. I almost immediately regretted it, though, when I realized the primary theme of the room was photographs of Renee and her new family. _It's not a new family, Miles. This has been her family for the past fifteen years_, I reminded myself not without a hint of bitterness. Looking at these pictures I couldn't help but to compare to my own life. I felt sure that dad and Christine left me out of these typical sort of family things that were pictured in the frames I was looking at right now. After they got married they had two kids together, my stepbrothers, Max and Sam. I realized that Charlie wasn't a bad father; he was just a bad father _to me_. Sitting right in front of me was the picture of a perfect family. Mom stood flanked at the side by who I assumed was her new—I mean, her old—husband. Beside them were three kids probably in their early teens, but I always did suck at guessing age. On the left was a girl that shared my same ivory-white skin and dark brown hair and I knew instantly it was Bella, my twin sister. I was so mesmerized looking at her that I almost didn't notice when I heard yelling coming from outside. Even more surprising, it was Renee yelling at Charlie, not the other way around. I turned and started to make my way to the door but stopped when I heard my name following something that sounded disgustingly similar to "what have you done him" and "what kind of a father are you"—definitely not a conversation I was comfortable walking into. So instead of stepping into the most awkward situation ever, I turned my mind inward to think about what she had just said.

Charlie hadn't done anything to me—not really. Well, apart from ignoring me. But that wasn't so bad, was it? I mean most parents ignore their kids, right? Unless it's some crazy Disney Channel show or a rom-com with a fuzzy warm family made of bubble gum and rainbows. But that shit just didn't exist in the real world.

I think the most disturbing thing that this reflection revealed to me was that in just ten minutes of being here, my mother had already chivalrously jumped to my defense against my father. She had accused him of being the cause of why I was like I was. I didn't really think it was entirely his fault, but I was so upset with him right then that I didn't care to correct anyone on the matter. I had bigger things to think about, like the fact that my mother seemed to be falling into that matrix I had been thinking about before—the one about how parents seemed to just love their children instinctively. I figured it had something to do with preservation of the species, really. An evolutionary trait that makes mother lions protect their cubs on instinct. It was actually really cool; I would have to remember to write it down later.

I looked up when my mother came through the door and closed it behind her, snapping the deadbolt shut without much thought—I preferred to think it was an automatic habit instead of a way to keep my father out of the house. I didn't have to wonder long, though, since just a second later I heard a car door slam shut and drive off.

"Please tell me that was his stupid car and not some Taxi," I said, rolling my eyes. She half-smiled and dropped a shiny BMW key into a bowl on a small table by the door, seemingly placed specifically to collect keys.

"I'm not driving it, mom—Renee. I mean… mom," I felt my cheeks flush again at my stupid blubbering. She stared at me for a moment, but for her part seemed totally unfazed, which was interesting to me. That meant that her awkwardness outside had been more for Charlie's part than my own. Or maybe just being worked up as much as she was, she forgot to feel nervous around me. Either way it helped my nerves a bit—I guess negative energy really is contagious.

"Whatever you want, but it _is_ a nice car," she shrugged. "I'm sorry for yelling—I'm sure you heard us," she said, moving forward and grabbing a couple of my bags before turning and heading up the stairs to the right. "Come on, your room is up here. Are the rest of your bags in the car?" I nodded my response, grabbed what was left, and moved to follow her.

The stars were old, and creaky, and fit perfectly with the rest of the house. Lining the walls were more ghosts of lives-not-had, aka pictures of my mom's family here. I realized, feeling ashamed, that I didn't actually know their names except for Bella. I was sure I had been told at some point but for the life of me I couldn't remember. I decided to swallow my pride and just ask, but mom beat me to it in a way I was quickly beginning to think was entirely intentional.

"Ben is at work for another little while," she said casually, continuing down a hallway past at least four doors. I wondered if they were going to put me in a laundry room or something, and then wondered just how big the house was when we turned a corner at the end and stopped abruptly.

"Chels, Ryan, and Bella will be home from school a bit before that," she said. I wondered if these were technical terms for time keeping she was using here, since I had no freaking idea when they would actually be home based on her explanations. I jumped when she laughed—it was a light, high-pitched giggle that I wasn't expecting. It struck me as being much more real than the one I had heard on the front lawn.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, it drives Bella absolutely crazy when I do that. Eventually, you'll just get used to it. Or, you won't know when to be home, or when dinner is, or what time family night starts, or—well, you get the idea. When you make the schedule, you get to make up the times too." Oh. I must've said that out loud. I smiled at her to show I was listening and worried slightly over what "family night" would entail.

She smiled, reached up and grabbed a string hanging from the ceiling, and pulled. This accomplished exactly two things. Number one, a cloud of dust and plaster came raining downward from the heavens, sending us both into a fit of coughing that lasted a good couple of minutes. With stinging eyes, I took notice of Number two: a set of stairs that came down with the string, leading up into the attic.

"Ben said it should only do that a couple of times," she said apologetically. "It was just so long since we'd been up there, prior to cleaning it out for you—" she must've seen the look on my face, because she quickly added, "don't worry, it's just temporary until we can clear out Ben's _study_." She said the word with such a hilariously sarcastic inflection that I couldn't help but to laugh.

"He never uses it, it's just going to take a few weeks to move everything to his office. Anyway, up you go," she said, motioning me forward.

For an attic, it wasn't nearly as bad as I would've thought. It was clean, bright, and airy. Two of the walls were normal, dry-walled and painted white, with windows in the middle of each of them. The sidewalls were slanted and more typically attic-like for a Victorian-style house, with wooden-beams crisscrossing and coming to a point at the top. It had potential, that's for sure.

Mom sat down my bags on a decent sized double-bed, said something about going down to get the rest and that I should start unpacking, and left down the stairs.

And so, as I unzipped my duffle bag full of clothes and began to unload them into the old dresser by the wall, I contemplated the idea that this is where my new life began. Right at this moment I was standing on the edge of the life I always wanted, of a new family and new opportunities to make friends, a new chance to be whoever I wanted to be. Looking back on this day a year from now, I wondered if I would remember it as a turning point. It felt, just then, like a great hinge on which my whole life turned.

I smiled to myself, and kept unpacking.

.=o=o=o=o=o=o=.

"So what do you eat?" Asked mom. We were sitting in the kitchen, sipping the tea she had just poured for me. I stalled for a second, trying to stir sugar into my Earl Grey but accidentally pouring way too much in. I grimaced, hoping she didn't notice.

"I prefer vegetables, you know, anything green and… leafy. I don't really eat meat," I said, feeling guilty. I didn't want her to feel like she had to change how she cooked for my sake. Being here was already a burden on their household, I wanted to try to make as little of a footprint as possible.

"That's fine. Bella is a strict vegetarian," she said. I nearly spat my drink out.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, darling," she said, totally unphased. She pulled out a notepad of paper from the small desk in the corner and sat down across from me. "Now, what are your favorite foods?"

I opened my mouth to reply but I was saved the trouble when a loud crashing sound came from the other room, followed by thumping, more crashing, and loud voices. "I'm just saying, that girl obviously has a few screws loose. Did you see the way she freaked out when Miranda Blare dropped—" The voice stopped as the swinging door to the kitchen opened, and the speaker, who I assumed to be Ryan, caught sight of me and Renee sitting at the table.

"Oh," he said, looking between the two of us. "Hey, you're Miles. I'm Ryan," he said directly, reaching out to shake my hand. I stood up and shook it, taking in his appearance. He stood a little bit shorter than me, shaggy hair falling around his ears that framed a smooth face. I could see the resemblance between us instantly; we had the same eyebrows and same nose. He just looked _nice_, the kind of person who you instantly liked. I smiled more widely.

I turned to the girl standing behind him. "Chelsea. Nice to meet you, Miles," she smiled as she spoke. She had wavy dark brown hair and freckles, by no means stereotypically 'hot', but definitely cute. She had the same warm demeanor as Ryan, that same friendliness that everyone in this family seemed to share.

She moved to the side as the door slid open one more time, and in walked Bella. As much as I could see the resemblance between Ryan and I, it was insane how similar Bella and I looked. Though I suppose it comes with the territory of being twins, our features were so similar I was sure if I chopped her hair short like mine she could easily pass as me. I had never thought of my features as particularly feminine, but nor was Bella all that masculine. I guess we both just shared the same strange androgynous features that easily fit either roll when framed properly by long hair or stubble or whatever other gender-defining characteristics.

Apparently she was equally freaked out. She stepped forward, eyeing me almost cautiously, before smiling hugely and practically mauling me in a hug.

"Wow… hi, Bella," I laughed. I pushed slightly until she backed off, but kept smiling. "It's like looking into a transsexual mirror," I said stupidly, trying to break the ice. She laughed and put her hands on both sides of my face before going in for another hug.

"Having you here is going to be so great," she said, turning to give mom a hug. It caught me a bit off guard, not being used to such open displays of affection with parents. More and more I was seeing how messed up my life with my dad had been, and more and more I was getting excited about the idea of being here with Renee and her family.

"Yeah, having another dude around is going to be great," Ryan spat through a mouth of apple.

"Gross, Ryan," sighed Chelsea, taking a seat next to him. "I just hope you've got more class than _that_," she said. Ryan laughed and grinned hugely at me, looking the picture of innocence. I couldn't help but to smile back, thinking that I'd done more smiling in the past ten minutes than I had in the last year put together. It was beautiful, the absolute peace I was feeling. It struck me how quickly it had happened, that these people already weren't strangers, but family.

I liked it. Now I just had to meet Ben, and let's just say, I was more than a little bit nervous about it. I had absolutely no idea where he fit into my life. I mean, what was the husband of your mother to you, when you already had a father? And I was going to be living under his roof, so he would be a parental figure no matter what. I knew I would have to respect him for that reason alone, but trying to put another man into that father role was going to be difficult. I didn't even know where I stood in _his_ eyes, either. Would he try to parent me? Council me? How much had Renee and Charlie told him about my life in Phoenix? I guess I would have to wait to find out.

We were all at various places around the kitchen—Bella and I talking about being vegetarians and how awesome it would be if we had some sort of long-distance twin telepathy going on, Ryan helping mom chop up veggies for dinner, and Chels sitting in the corner texting—when I heard the front door rattle open again. I looked up, a knot forming in my stomach. Here we go.

The man that walked through the double door was not what I was expecting at all, his picture didn't do him justice. I was picturing someone old, but he had an energy about him that was just… youthful. He was clean-shaven, had a full head of hair, and he was tall. Really tall. If I had to guess I would say at least 6'4, easy.

The minute he walked in he went immediately to mom, placed a kiss on the top of her head and gave her a hug from behind. It was such a gentle and loving gesture that I think I felt my heart skip a bit, being the silly romantic that I am.

"It smells great in here, miss, what _are_ you cookin'?" His voice startled me with a southern accent. It must've shown on my face because Bella rolled her eyes and said "dad, quit messing with the new guy," smacking his arm as he came over and gave her a kiss on her head too. For the second time in 30 seconds my heart skipped a beat, hearing Bella call him dad. I should've been expecting it, it made sense after all, considering she grew up with him as her only father figure. It was still weird.

"Welcome to the family, Miles," said Ben, reaching out both hands and clasping my one in between. It felt so genuine all I could do was nod; sure I must look like an absolute idiot sitting there dumbfounded. He didn't seem to mind, though. Like Renee, he seemed to have this innate ability to put people at ease. I just smiled at him, tried to mumble a thanks, and pulled my hand back.

Dinner that night was the first time in a very long time I can truly remember being happy, and more than ever I was struck by how sudden and drastic a change that was. Watching the five of them interact was my first glimpse into a true family, my first experience with people who would grow to become so important to me in the years to come. I didn't know it then, but tonight was the first night of the rest of my life.

**AN: So. Yeah. This chapter should've gone further. :( But it's okay, plenty for the future, haha.**

**I'm sorry I do the inner-dialogue thing with Miles so much. I need to find a good balance between that and the real-world, but I also wanna illustrate that that's how **_**Miles**_** really is. Always caught up in his own head. So a story narrated by him is naturally going to show a lot of his inner-workings.**

**For the record, Chelsea is Ben's kid from a previous marriage, like Miles and Bella from Renee's past marriage with Charlie. Ryan is Ben and Renee's kid.**

**Oh, in case you're wondering, in my head Miles looks a lot like Logan Lerman, and Bella looks... not like Kristen Stewart. :P**

**Comments and criticism are always very welcome. :] Thanks guys.**


	3. Chapter 2: Sweet the Feet of the Dove

**I updated and rewrote the first half of this chapter after posting it, so if it's different than you remember, that's why.**

**Non-movieverse. Edward doesn't look like Robert Pattinson in my head. I dunno why, but for some reason while writing this scene I imagined him like Dez Duron from The Voice, but paler. Mmmmm, probably because Miles' reaction was pretty much MY reaction the first time that boy sang. Whooooo.**

Chapter 2: Sweet the Feet of the Dove

My dreams were plagued that night by strange nightmares involving the past—only, they weren't scary, just telling. It started out in the old movie theater I worked for a summer in. There was a visit by some big corporate manager, so we were all freaking out and trying to clean and scrub everything. I, being the tallest, was given the wonderful task of cleaning the dust and dead things out of the ceiling vents. Only, when I got on the ladder to reach them, the vents had big teeth and evil eyes that were laughing and staring. I was trying to clean the vent when it told me that that I was doomed to freeze to death in Forks, and as if to hit this point home, it spat a steady stream of ice cubes at me while I tried to clean it.

I woke up freezing, and spent a moment mentally berating myself for not thinking ahead and realizing it was going to be positively arctic sleeping up here. I made a mental note to ask Renee for extra blankets for the future.

Getting out of bed had always been an enormous process for me. I knew from reading books and seeing on TV—and to a lesser extent I guess human interaction—that getting out of bed was supposed to be akin to pulling teeth, that everyone hated it and would prefer to just stay in bed lazily for a few hours. For me, though, I think it went deeper than just being tired.

I'd thought about it before, probably a little bit too deeply, and came up with a couple of possibilities. Mostly I attributed it to the warmth and comfort that being wrapped up in your blankets afforded. Soft pillow, thick blankets weighing heavily against your body… it was just human nature to want to say comfortable, right?

But another part of me, the part that tended to think too deeply about these things, also saw the potential for it being an escape from reality. In our sleep we're free to experience worlds that are entirely our own. As the great Albus Dumbledore once said, we may swim under the deepest ocean and climb over the highest mountain. For a boy who so desperately hated the real world, the promise of that alternate world was a hard thing to surrender. Leaving bed was, as a result, always tough.

Still, I managed it. And I only barely regretted it, even when my bare fit connected with the ice-cold wooden floor I managed to control my impulse to dive back into the blankets.

I made my way down the stairs and through the halls, being quiet with a museum-like air that I knew wasn't necessary, as everyone in the house had already woken and left earlier in the morning. Being here was brand new, I was walking around a stranger's house, amongst a stranger's things. It was an odd feeling, and a hard one to reconcile with the knowledge that it was _my_ house now, too.

The bathroom all of us "kids" shared was unnaturally clean, considering its occupants. No dirty clothes or towels laying around, the counter was clear of debris and toiletries… I wondered briefly if Bella was as much of a neat freak as I was about the bathroom.

I finally stopped stalling and turned to look at myself in the mirror. Over the months I'd gotten gradually better at training my eyesight away from things I didn't want to see, be it my pale and ugly face or the thick reddened scars that ran along my arms. Getting ready in the morning was an unfortunately stressful situation because of those scars, and they were hard not to see. Each time I reached out to open the medicine cabinet, reach over to grab the tooth paste, reach out to turn on and off the faucet—there they were, staring right at me. Mocking me. Making me feel the most intense regret I'd ever felt in my life.

I averted my eyes as much as possible, brushed as quickly as I could. Took a piss at the toilet, and turned to leave. Rounding the corner thinking about what to wear out, and by doing so avoiding thinking about the scars, I wasn't exactly looking where I was going—instead of meeting with open air like I had expected, I ran headfirst right smack-dab into a warm body.

"Oomph—oww," he winced, rubbing the spot on his forehead where my chin had collided.

"Oh dude, I'm sorry, I totally didn't know anyone else was here…" I trailed off as I noticed his eyes scanning across my inner forearms. Ryan, for his part, was classy about it. He didn't stare, but he wasn't quick enough to mask the slight curiosity and pity in his eyes.

I folded my arms over in a pretty much useless attempt to cover up. No real point, he'd already seen what I didn't want him to see. I wondered if Renee had told her kids about what had happened to me back in Arizona, or even how much Renee herself had known. I knew Dad had told her about the Ambien, but did he also tell her about my little attention-seeking stunt with the razorblade, too?

"No, it's uh, it's cool," he said, his eyes now looking anywhere but at my arms. "I have a free period on Friday so I just sleep in. I guess mom didn't tell you that," he laughed weakly, not really sounding very amused.

We stood in awkward silence for a couple of seconds before Ryan reached up, patted my shoulder in a friendly brotherly manly sort of way, and weaved around me to get into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him, and a moment later I heard the water running.

I sighed. I had gone through similar things with people before, but this felt different. I supposed it was because I was looking forward to starting fresh here. I couldn't explain it, but being here just _felt_ different. All of the color that I couldn't see in the world before seemed especially vibrant here. It was like I had gone to sleep in one universe and woken up in an entirely different one.

My scars were like an annoying pesky tie to that old universe. I looked down at them and loathed them, wishing they would just leave me alone and let me live in my new world in peace.

Deciding I wasn't going to convince them, I returned to my room to change into something decent for going out. I dug through what little clothing I had brought and only managed to find a thin sweatshirt that had been more for style than for function back in the desert, but it would have to do.

Making sure I had a notepad and my camera in my backpack, I swung it on and went back down the stairs and down the hall.

The water had stopped, but the light was still sneaking through the crack at the bottom of the door, so I knew Ryan was still in there. I was hoping to make it past without having to talk to him, but the door swung open almost exactly as I walked by.

"Oh no, not _again_!" He cried, flinging up his arms in mock-hysteria, pretending to shield from me crashing into him. I laughed, and he lowered his arms and laughed too. The awkwardness from before was suddenly gone, and I felt good. I let myself be amazed for a minute at how easy going these people were, how we could go from completely awkward to just fine with the easy transition of a joke. Were people back home like this, and I just hadn't given them a chance? Or was Forks really just a special place where people were less judgmental, more forgiving, and easier to socialize with?

"You're going to come home an ice cube if you go out in that, and mom will totally blame my ass for it," he said, interrupting my train of thought. "I have a hoodie hanging from the peg by the door. The black one. Go ahead and take it for the day, save both of our asses," he laughed.

I started to protest, but he just gave me non-compromising look and walked away down the hall. I didn't ponder this too much, just let it fold into the intricately weaved profile of him, and the rest of this family, that I had going in my head.

Ten minutes later when the rain started pouring down I almost regretted my decision to go out. Almost. Still, it was strangely soothing to be out there in the rain. It was so heavy it created a sort of veil around the world, staring too far off into it felt like looking into a foggy mirror. Trees and buildings were fuzzy. Less real. It felt like I could fade away into it and nobody would be any the wiser.

I wondered why anonymity was so comforting. Was it because I felt so wrong in my own skin? Did just being _me_ bother me so much that I didn't want anyone to see?

I pulled up my camera and snapped a quick picture of a white dove sitting on a mailbox across the street. The bird stared me down, as though it was mocking my need to be hidden. _Ha. I see you. You're trying to hide, Little Human, but you can't hide from me, _it said. I lowered my camera after taking another picture, and the bird was gone.

I shivered. It felt creepy and real, in a weird way. Like I really had heard the bird speaking in my head. I pondered this as I kept walking, too used to the question of _am I really crazy?_ to bother asking myself again. There's only so much wondering you can do before you stop wondering and just accept it. It becomes a natural part of your psyche, as valid or as truthful as your hair color or your love of strawberries. It just was.

A little bit further down the road and I reached Independence Ave, where the quant little neighborhood began. Renee's house—well, mine too, I suppose—was isolated on its own long driveway, tangling through wild trees and up to a small hill where the house was perched. It was part of the neighborhood, but slightly isolated from the rest of the house. Just like me. Miles Swan, part of humanity, but separated from the rest in my own little bubble of weird. Oddly fitting.

I turned the corner and started the walk downhill towards the town its self. The little quant neighborhood of houses was situated on an incline up the mountain that ran up before evening off, and the main street of the town was at the foot of it. Covered in misty rain and fog, it made quite the sight as you came down the hill—I snapped another picture.

I decided, somewhere between my soaking wet sneakers and catching sight of the warmly lit windows of a small coffee shop, that this was a beautiful place to live. A beautiful place to be alive, so different and separated from everything I knew before. I spared some thought to whether or not it was because it was everything opposite of what I knew before, or if it was standing on its own merits. The sun, the heat, the orange mountains of Phoenix… it all represented the life I had before. It made sense to me, in my limited understanding of psychology and my overly poetic mind, that I would find the opposite of it to be beyond gorgeous.

Had I grown up here, would I have had the same problems? Would existing be as much of a chore as it was in Phoenix? Would I have tried to kill myself, and if I had, would Renee have sent me to live with Charlie in Arizona? And if I had gotten there, seen the big city, the orange of the rocks and the blazing heat of the clear blue sky, would I have thought it was beautiful as I now find it repellent? The thoughts buzzed around in my head like a swarm of bees, but one was most prevalent:

Humans were such fascinating creatures.

I reached the little coffee shop and took a minute to appreciate it visually. The building was flush with the others along the street, the style left over from the days when main streets were all just one long building with different facades to distinguish different shops. The café, for its part, was painted a deep brown that made a perfect pair to the warm glow from lanterns hanging by the entrance. The windows had frost along the edges, and as cold as it was, I'm pretty sure it had to have been painted on. Still it was a nice touch. Across the top of the door in arching gold letters were the words "Morgan Muffle's Coffee & Cakes," with slight peeling along the edges. I smiled, and instantly I knew I had found a second home.

I pulled my hood down and shook my hair slightly to lose any wetness left over, and stepped through the door. A small bell chimed above head just as a girl behind the counter near the back looked up. She smiled, waved, and turned back to the espresso machine she was manning. Must be part of the job description.

The wind blew behind me, nearly pulling the door handle from my grasp. The cold air hitting me from behind and the warmth from inside the café blanketing me from the front created a strange sandwiching effect. I felt like a cumulonimbus cloud in the making.

People were seated around the place, going about their business. Some were sitting at tables with laptops or iPads, typing away or playing Angry Birds or doing whatever it was that people did while sitting on laptops or iPads. Others were sitting on big plushy couches and chairs, situated in a half circle around a big fireplace that crackled happily in the corner. Chatting with their friends and sipping lattes, looking for all the world like they were the happiest people alive. I envied them and their simple happiness.

At the counter, the girl working the bar smiled again, this time a little wider and maybe I was imaging it, but with a little bit of curiosity coloring her eyes. I'm sure in a town as small as this she must be wondering who the stranger was. I doubted they got a lot of newcomers, but wondered if there's any good tourist spots nearby, or if anyone came through here while driving north or vacations or anything. I can't be the only new face, right? I got nervous thinking about it.

"Hey there. Want to try one of our pumpkin chai lattes?" She chirped, happy and light. She was pretty, in a girl sort of way. Her hair was curly and dark blonde and pulled back into a bun, a few strands of it hanging out wildly near her ears. Which, I realized with a grin, held two pink-frosted donut earrings hanging from them.

"Part of the dress code?" I asked, tapping my own earlobe for clarification. She laughed, seeming to not mind me ignoring her attempted up-sell of the pumpkin thing.

"Part of the Aly-code, actually," she said, and I looking down at her name badge—Alyson. Cute name. "But it might be part of what got me the job here, to be honest. I definitely couldn't make coffee very well—" I gave her the best skeptical-apprehensive-maybe-I-WON'T-get-coffee face—"but I've gotten much better!" She added quickly, bouncing slightly in place and gesturing around with both hands as if to say _look at all of the happy, non-complaining customers!_ to prove her point.

"Right…" I laughed, surprising myself. Being in Forks felt like being painted into a portrait of a happy little town with happy people, and expected to play a part. Morose as it sounds, I never laughed. Never. And yet here I was, not even 24 hours in Forks and already the simple happiness of a café barista had become infectious. It swirled around in combat with the negativity I inherently felt about life, all of those feelings were still near the surface. The loneliness, the desperate desire to talk to someone—_anyone_—was bubbling in me like red-hot magma, contained for too long and ready to erupt. It occurred to me, distantly, that maybe changing your environment really did matter as much as psychologists and doctors and _my parents_ had said it did. _I think Forks is going to be healthy for you, Miles_, he had said. Sitting in that coffee shop felt like a world away from my dad and his words, but they still made me angry even now.

"So… no pumpkin chai?" Asked Alyson, biting her lip. I caught myself frowning, wondering if I had let my dark thoughts about my dad show through on my face. She must've been thinking I was the biggest dick ever.

"Oh, uh… yeah, one of those," I said, trying to smile, but I was still huffy because dad being right was just so _wrong_. So I chose to ignore it, buried him and his words deeply away and forgot they were there. For now.

"It'll be $4.50," she said, and tapped a button on the register.

"What! For _coffee?_" I yelped, indignant at the thought.

"Times are tough, this stuff isn't cheap you know. Especially hauling it all of the way up here to Forks. We pay a premium on the coffee beans," she said, looking happy at knowing the logistics.

"But… isn't chai made from tea?"

She deflated slightly.

"Well yeah—"

"It's okay," I laughed, handing over the money. "I'm sure it'll be great."

As I took a seat in this little coffee shop in the middle of nowhere, somehow I felt more alive than I had in the entire year and a half before moving here. What was it about Forks that was so different? The very air I was breathing in seemed to tingle with possibilities for the future. Back in Phoenix it was a chore just to exist. I didn't bother trying to be a part of anything because, for some inexplicable reason, life held no spark for me. Now, swimming in green and gray in the little town of Forks, everything felt different. The idea of starting school the next day was somehow exciting, the idea of meeting people and having friends was suddenly something I was looking forward to. Back home I wanted nothing to do with it, but here…? Here just felt different.

I was stirring the bits of pumpkin spice into my chai, contemplating what it meant about the psyche that the chance at a "fresh start" was such an enormous emotional lift, when I heard the bell above the door ring and instinctively looked up.

If asked, even years later, to define exactly what I felt in that moment… I wouldn't be able to. I couldn't explain it to myself, let alone anyone else. It started in at the tips of my toes and fingers, like dipping your hands into warm water after playing in the snow. It spread up my arms and legs, spread across my chest and my stomach and spun and curled like warm honey. Butterflies didn't even begin to cover it, I felt like I was high or drunk or had just been told the world was ending, that the stars were falling from the heavens as I was sitting here.

It was the first time I ever saw Edward Cullen.

My heart stopped. The blood in my veins slowed to a lazy haze, the whole world fell away and right in the middle of it was the most beautiful person I had ever seen in my entire life. I stared at him shamelessly, probably with a dumbfounded look on my face, but I couldn't look away. Even as he ordered at the bar—and I saw, in a distant way, that Alyson also seemed flustered—and as he sat down at a table in the corner. If he noticed me, he tactfully wasn't making it apparent.

It was some time later that I finally broke my gaze from his flawless, pale face. Discretely, and trying not to think about how creepy it was, I ever so slightly rotated my camera on the table so that it was aiming at him.

I snapped a picture. Click. In that very second, his eyes shot up and met mine, and his expression changed from mostly blank to curious and amused. Instantly I felt my heart speed up and my face flush red—he couldn't _possibly_ have heard the sound from all of the way over there, could he?

I quickly averted my gaze down to my notepad in front of me, and began to doodle to seem less conspicuous, all the while mentally berating myself for being such a creeper. The only saving grace was that he looked older than I was, so he probably didn't go to my school. I did wonder, briefly, why such a handsome, young guy was hanging around Forks—I doodled a couple of forks on my paper—when he could be modeling in Los Angeles or something. He definitely had the looks for it.

I doodled the Hollywood sign.

"I can't seem to recall seeing_ that_ around Forks," said a silky smooth voice. I felt myself freeze, looking up to see the object of my attentions standing a couple of feet in front of me. He smiled a flawlessly dimpled smile and sat in the chair opposite. I scrambled frantically in my brain for something to say.

"You uh, you mean me?" I said, and twitched at how stupid it sounded. I had meant it as in _oh you haven't seen me around Forks?_, but it had come out as _are you talkin' to me? _I wanted to curl up and die.

My misery must've shown on my face, because Mr. Smolder laughed a deep, melodic laugh that sent chills down my spine. Oh man. What was going _on_ with me?

"Well, I haven't seen _you_, either. Allow me to introduce myself," he said, never losing his slight smile, but he didn't extend his hand for a shake like most people would have, either.

"I'm Edward."

Thump thump thump. My heart was beating a million times a second, my thoughts coming in jumbles and alternating between trying to convince me to put my tail between my legs and run, and trying to form a coherent sentence. In the end it was kind of a combination of the two:

"M-Miles," I stuttered out, simultaneously getting up and banging my knee into the bottom of the table. The whole thing shook, sending waves of my poor pumpkin chai over the edge of the cup onto the paper.

I grabbed my bag from the floor and raced out the door, bell chiming softly behind me as I stepped out into the rain.

How embarrassing! He must be thinking I'm a total nutcase after that episode. What kind of a person introduces themselves and then runs away? Especially after spilling their drink all over them? I felt like such a mess, but more than that, I was trying to clear my head. Trying to understand _why_ Edward had made me feel so out of phase.

I couldn't imagine it being just normal attraction, but then, everything I felt here in Forks seemed to be amplified for some unknown reason. If I believed in God, I would think there was some sort of divine intervention going on in some effort to endear me to my new home.

But I don't, and there isn't. So I kept walking.

**AN: Long time. Chapter title is taken from Swinburne's Hymn to Proserpine. That genius.**

**Saw Breaking Dawn part 2 and it got me all inspired and such.**


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